


like a stray cat

by ElasticElla



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: 3 Sentence Ficathon, CC Jitters, F/F, Femslash February, Pre-Canon, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: “I do not get paid enough for this,” Iris mutters to herself as someone enters Jitters literally five seconds before close.The Golden Glider is striding up to the counter as if she’s a regular customer, “One mocha latte please.”
Relationships: Lisa Snart/Iris West
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16
Collections: Poetry Fiction: July Comment Fic Challenge





	like a stray cat

“I do not get paid enough for this,” Iris mutters to herself as someone enters Jitters literally five seconds before close. She’s already wiped down all the tables, cleaned the machines, closed down the register, and was about to box up the unsold pastries to be donated. 

Looking up her stomach drops, there’s no mistaking the golden gun on her hip, nor the long eyelashes that have winked at many a security camera. _Golden Glider_ is striding up to the counter as if she’s a regular customer, “One mocha latte please.” 

Iris can do this. Sure, there’s a… supervillain, god Central has gotten so weird since the explosion (and her thoughts flicker sadly to Barry still in his coma). But Glider hasn’t been caught actually doing anything, never shows up on security feeds during heists. Her Dad’s complained about the woman a few times, how her two partners have outstanding warrants, but they’re never in the public eye, while she hasn’t gotten a single parking ticket, and grins at seemingly every security camera in Central. 

Her hands are shaky as she finishes the traditional wave on top that looks more like a blob. She takes a breath, reminds herself that Glider doesn’t get caught, definitely won’t murder her. …unless she already took the cameras out and looped the feed and-

“Thanks,” she says, taking the latte. 

“Have a nice night,” Iris says, voice steady. 

The woman quirks an eyebrow, and Iris kind of hates that she can’t stop noticing how attractive she is. “How much do I owe you?” 

“It’s on the house,” Iris says quickly, more than happy to take the drink out of her daily tips to have this weirdness over with. 

“Oh, it’s always lovely to meet a fan Miss…?” 

“I’m not-” Iris replies before her brain kicks in, “I mean um, I’m not a fan of supervillains in general. You’re great at your er, job. I’d just rather you didn’t do it.” 

Iris can’t remember the last time she got her foot stuck in her mouth so thoroughly, that was usually Barry’s gig. And god, she’s totally going to die now. 

The Golden Glider _giggles_ , “Oh honey, aren’t you adorable?” Her gaze lands on the nearly empty display case, “Maybe if you still had those mini cheesecakes I could be persuaded. Until next time, Iris.” 

“How-” she starts, remembering her name tag, “wait, what do you mean next time?” 

The woman’s already at the door, sending a grin over her shoulder, “It’s Lisa darling, good night.” 

Iris rubs the bridge of her nose, has never felt like a film star from the forties before, featuring a gorgeous and doubtlessly deadly femme fatale. And now she’s thinking in tautologies, fantastic. She grabs a dish towel to do a final wipe down of the counter, and promptly drops it. 

There, sitting in the middle of the counter, is a crisp one-hundred dollar bill. 

Oh, she is so screwed. 

(She takes the money of course, treats herself to a manicure in the morning to destress. She might forget to mention the encounter over lunch with her Dad.)

.

Lisa shows up the next night, at 11:59, and this time Iris has cleaned everything except the latte machine. Lisa doesn’t strike her as the sort of person to switch up their coffee order, and sure enough, she asks for another mocha latte. This time the waves on top even come out properly, and between the in-progress psych degree and being a cop’s daughter, she has way too many theories about why. (None of them look good.)

Lisa grins when she glances at the display case, an assortment of mini cheesecakes on top. 

“Which one’s your favorite?” 

Iris can answer that guiltlessly as least, “The milk chocolate and caramel.” 

Lisa nods, “I’ll take them all.” 

Iris grabs a box and fills it up, certain Lisa was involved in the ruby heist a few hours after she left yesterday. She hesitates before handing it over. “You said you wouldn’t steal if we had cheesecake.”

Lisa laughs, “I said I could be persuaded.” Her gaze feels physical with how heavy it is, dragging down her body. “Persuade me.” 

Iris’s cheeks burn, and she should be offended or mad or insulted or all of them. Not- not, oh fuck, she’s blushing and her stomach is squirming pleasantly, and the only silver lining is Lisa can’t tell. 

“You want the dessert? No theft.” 

Lisa grabs the box, but Iris doesn’t let go. 

“Fine,” she relents, “I won’t steal anything today.” 

Iris smiles, “Good night Lisa.” 

She doesn’t believe the thief, but she does keep her eyes off Lisa’s form as she leaves. Which is progress, probably. (No saying in which direction.)

This time there’s two hundred dollars left on the counter, and Iris is a grad student- she isn’t about to turn down an outrageously large tip just because the source is questionable at best. 

.

The following night Lisa doesn’t show up, and Iris might leave an assorted half dozen mini cheesecakes in a box on the counter. She’s opening tomorrow morning anyways, so it isn’t like anyone will know in case they aren’t claimed. 

There aren’t any heists in the news- foiled or otherwise- just talk about a deserted warehouse that burnt down by the pier. It puts an extra spring in her step, and she knows it’s silly- it isn’t as if Lisa was out there stealing every single night. And with a clean record, she can probably do it without getting caught and- 

The box is gone. Iris walks up to the counter, unfolding the paper left in its place, her name on top. A necklace slides onto the counter with a receipt, the note in large cursive letters- _for my favorite barista_.

The necklace is gorgeous, a mesh gold choker lined with rhinestones glittering impossibly bright. She looks at the receipt amused and relieved it was included and-

“Holy shit.” 

They’re diamonds. 

Lisa just left a twenty-two thousand dollar necklace on Jitters’ counter like it was a tip. Her mouth is dry as she pockets the note and receipt, cupping the necklace in her hands. Iris’s eyes flicker to the clock, and there’s still a few minutes before opening as she rushes to the bathroom, simply _must_ see it on. 

Before she returns it. She can’t keep a gift like this. It’s one thing to excuse a few hundred dollars but this… 

It’s even more stunning on, looks like it belongs on her neck. Which is just the greed talking, and she knows better. Her fingers tremble over the diamonds, and she reminds herself it’s like wearing a year of school loans around her neck. (It doesn’t help, it’s so damn pretty.)

There’s distant banging, and fuck, Iris totally forgot to unlock the front door. And turn on the machines, and check stock, and all the other steps of opening the place. _Fuck_. 

.

It’s been a long ass day. From opening Jitters, followed by the worst morning traffic ever- someone wouldn’t stop screaming about how they needed their cranberry-pecan vegan muffin and refused to listen that they haven’t carried it in over a year and _then_ some kid vomited and an entire can of febreeze later and it still smelled gross, to a draining guest lecture that Iris found herself nodding off in, to here and now, sitting at the library and staring at her dissertation. 

That she has made exactly zero progress on today. 

With a groan, Iris shuts her laptop. Tomorrow, tomorrow she will make so much progress it won’t know what to do with itself. Her adviser will be thrilled, and everything will be nice. 

She visits Barry on the way home, and he’s a regular sleeping beauty- doesn’t look like he’s been out for six months at all. Looks like he could just wake up and everything would go back to normal. When the weirdest part of Iris’s day was hearing about Barry’s latest supernatural ‘totally possible Iris!’ oddity. (God, Barry will get _such_ a kick out of all the vigilantes and heroes and villains and metahumans. He just has to wake up.)

It isn’t until Iris is in the bathroom, about to wash her face when she remembers the small fortune wrapped around her neck. She gently takes it off, gives it its own drawer in her jewelry box. (Not because it’s staying, but because of how large the necklace is compared to the small jewelry box her father and Barry made for her thirteenth birthday.)

.

Iris doesn’t have another night shift until Tuesday, doesn’t see Lisa in the interim. The necklace becomes a daily staple- it’d be criminal to _not_ wear it- and it garners a few nice comments. One of them trips her up; her classmate Stanley asking who it was from when she mentioned it was a gift. And Iris paused a second too long, unsure how to label Lisa, and Stanley winked, remarking new romance looked good on her. Then the lecture started up, Iris still dazed by the offhand comment. 

Her Dad at least doesn’t catalog the new necklace as anything suspicious, probably assumes it’s costume jewelry. (Thank god for small miracles.)

It’s as Tuesday’s turning into Wednesday, and Iris is polishing the counter top (she may have finished everything up early, sue her) that Lisa comes in. 

“Mocha latte?” Iris asks, and she nods. 

“I missed you,” Lisa says playfully once she reaches the counter. 

“I don’t work here every night,” Iris says handing the latte over, and fuck she’s totally teasing her, fuck.

Lisa takes it, their fingertips brushing for the briefest of moments, “And where are you those nights?” 

“No where you can follow.” 

“Oh? I’m pretty good at… getting into places.” 

Iris can’t hold back a smile, “My Dad would shoot you.” 

“Because I’m a woman or because I’m courting you?” 

Butterflies spin in her stomach, rebuttal landing on her lips by itself, “Because you’re a criminal.” 

Lisa doesn’t even blink, “Allegedly.” 

“Uh huh.”

It isn’t until Lisa’s half out the door, cold wind blowing in, that she turns back to say, “The necklace looks good on you West.” 

And then she’s gone before Iris can thank her or demand she takes it back or anything. She still rushes out the door to follow, sees Lisa take off on a motorcycle. (Of _course_ Lisa has a motorcycle; she’s like every bad girl fantasy Iris has ever had wrapped up in a bright golden bow.)

.

Iris doesn’t mention the necklace the next night, or the one after that. It’s basic survival instinct, that’s all. So what if she’s noticed some nights Lisa isn’t carrying her gold gun? She’s still a supervillain and Iris can’t forget that. (She’s pretty sure Lisa doesn’t kill unless she has to, and now she’s sympathizing with her and-)

She’s a cop’s daughter. She knows better. 

Iris still wears the necklace. 

Her Dad hasn’t asked yet, but he’s been giving her a knowing look, and he definitely suspects something is up. Probably has most of it right. 

.

Thursday night, a middle aged man comes in and buys every last pastry, cookie, and pie slice they have in stock. Over the past month, there have been some nights Iris works that Lisa doesn’t show, few and far between as they are. But Iris knows in her gut that Lisa is going to come tonight, and it is going to be a disaster. 

Her father has been talking about the new anti-meta theft measures the department has been taking, and they would definitely stop an ordinary human. And Iris can’t visit Lisa in prison, not that they’re there yet- not that they’re even headed in that direction. She’s a criminal, albeit a very good one. (Very _bad_ , dammit.)

Sure enough, Lisa saunters in at midnight, smirking as she surveys the empty display cases. 

“Sorry, some guy bought them all earlier.” 

Lisa’s smirk doesn’t dim though, as she leans over the counter. “I suppose you’ll have to give me something sweeter then.” 

And Iris must have lost her mind, is leaning across the counter to meet those cherry red lips.

**Author's Note:**

> double prompts: Any, any, taming the villain like a stray cat -[3 sentence ficathon](https://rthstewart.dreamwidth.org/157880.html?thread=8171704#cmt8171704) & "Behind all this some great happiness is hiding." -[poetry fiction](https://poetry-fiction.dreamwidth.org/115094.html)


End file.
